


Across & Beyond

by Winged_Fool



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brief suicide ideation, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Lives, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-17 11:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20620049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winged_Fool/pseuds/Winged_Fool
Summary: Accidents ambush the unsuspecting, often violently, just like loveWhen Alex gets into the accident that causes his leg to be amputated, he meets Michael who claims they were lovers two hundred years ago on a planet called Antar.Based on The Gargoyle by Andrew Davidson





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Work is currently kicking my ass and I have three grad school apps to work on so I thought, hey now's a good time to start a WIP! This is based on my absolutely favorite book The Gargoyle and I hope I can do it some justice.

_Accidents ambush the unsuspecting, often violently, just like love_. 

Alex remembers the explosion before everything goes black. He fades in and out of consciousness, hearing people frantically shouting at each other then floats back into the darkness. The next time he wakes, he’s in a hospital bed, the crisp white sheets and beeping being the giveaway. Someone is sitting in his room and presses a warm hand to his forehead, “Sleep,” the person instructs and Alex’s eyes fall shut again.

Time passes and Alex is in a haze of morphine when he finally awakens and sees a nurse in the room with him. “You’re awake,” she observes happily, “Dr. Valenti adjusted your meds to come out of the coma. I’ll go get him.” She hurries out of the room, leaving Alex alone to his thoughts. _ Coma_? He thinks blearily, then decides to take stock of his body: fingers wiggle, arms move, left toes flex, right - and that’s when Alex sees it, or rather _doesn’t_ see it. His right leg has been partially amputated.

Alex starts to struggle in his bed, the machines he’s tied up to beeping wildly when a doctor rushes in. “Whoa, hey, hey,” the doctor places a hand on Alex’s shoulder, “Deep breaths, okay? Take deep breaths. You’re okay.”

He’s gasping for air but clutches at the doctor’s free hand to ground himself. “How - what happened?”

Dr. Valenti looks at Alex sympathetically, “What do you remember?”

“I was out in the desert, in a convoy.” Alex shuts his eyes tight, trying to remember. “I was with my unit, the four of us. There was an explosion.”

He nods, “Your convoy drove over a roadside bomb and got your unit good.” At Alex’s hitched breath, he confirms sympathetically, “The three of them didn’t make it.”

Alex pulls his hands away from the doctor and presses the heels to his eyes. First his fucking leg and now his family was gone. He takes a deep shuddering breath, drops his hands to his side, and tries to regain his composure. “Okay. Okay. So the explosion took my leg too?”

“The damage was too severe, we had to amputate it.” Dr. Valenti explains, “You’ve been in a coma for about a month.”

Alex stays silent, trying to take in the information. Dr. Valenti must see the conflicting emotions on Alex’s face and he continues, “We have a psychiatrist you can talk to. Dr. Evans is brilliant, just let us know when you want to talk to her, okay? You’ll be here for another month while they work on fitting you with a prosthetic and then you’ll be moved to another ward for physical therapy with Dr. DeLuca.”

“Okay,” Alex says again, sounding like a broken record, “Thank you, Dr. Valenti.”

He claps his hand on Alex’s shoulder, “You can call me Kyle. You’re going to be okay, Alex, you’ve got a great team behind you.” He states enthusiastically when all Alex wants to do is sink into sleep and never wake back up.

* * *

The days pass slowly, Alex doesn’t get any visitors, so he asks for books from Kyle and fills his time that way. He knows how many tiles are on the ceiling of his hospital room and catalogs every crack in the tiles. It feels like he’s being eaten alive by the bed and he’s slowly losing his mind.

Alex’s commanding officer finally comes by after a week. They sit and make awkward small talk before he pulls out the papers and the real reason he came. With the amputation, they’re honorably discharging him. Under the CO’s indifferent gaze, Alex signs the papers, regaining his freedom. The CO stays a bit longer but once it’s clear that neither have any more to say to the other, he hastily makes his exit.

It’s wholly anti-climatic he thinks bitterly. Alex always thought leaving the Air Force would feel like the biggest fuck you to his father and that he’d feel an enormous weight lifted from his shoulders. But, he supposes, in those fantasies, it was on his own terms and he’d still have two functioning legs. Reality is much crueler. They sucked all of his usefulness out of him and dropped him the moment he could no longer kill for them.

Alex sinks further into his bed as the familiar sadness and loneliness wrap around him like an old blanket. Not for the first time, Alex wonders how he ended up here. He’d lost touch with Liz years ago and hadn’t made many meaningful friendships in the military aside from his unit who were now all gone. He’d never been in a real relationship, the shadow of both his father and DADT keeping him firmly in the closet. And now he laid in a hospital bed, a useless, friendless, loveless _cripple_.

The fantasies of dying are not new either. Passive ideations have been present in his life for as long as he remembers. But the guilt of surviving when Samara (who had a child and husband waiting at home for her), Adam (who had just gotten engaged), and Matthew (who was slated to leave the Air Force at the end of the year to travel the world with his wife) hadn’t made it out weighed heavily on him. They’d had good worthwhile lives, why had he been spared?

When Alex is released from the hospital, he’ll make it right. He’ll be reunited with his unit and everything will be right again.

* * *

The first thing Alex notices about him is the hair. Wild, honey curls that fall carelessly around his handsome face. Soft tresses that Alex feels like he’s raked his fingers through thousands of times before. Then there were the eyes. Clear, beautiful eyes that matched the color of his hair. Eyes, Alex is certain, that hide no emotion. He has a warm look in them now that don’t entirely match the knowing smirk on his face. “You’ve lost a leg. Again.”

Alex startles. Was this stranger mocking him? He aggressively gestures at his legs, “I’ve only lost one.”

The man’s smirk slips off his face and confusion replaces it, “Perhaps you’re not you?”

Alex just stares blankly at the man who shifts his weight back and forth between his -_ working _\- legs. Then he steels himself as though he’s made a decision and walks with purpose toward Alex’s bed. He leans close into Alex’s space and breathes against his lips, “Antar.” He straightens up and looks at Alex expectantly.

Alex shakes his head in utter confusion, contemplating reaching for the call button to get this clearly deranged man out of his room. But, truthfully, it was the longest contact he’d had with someone else and a small part of him was curious.

The man takes a small step back, looking a little shaken, “You don’t remember.” Alex merely shrugs one shoulder because clearly whatever this man thought Alex should know, he didn’t. The man shakes his head in disbelief, “Well, then. That’ll just make things more interesting.” He sprawls in the chair next to Alex. “Did you know they’re hunting me? I’ve been running for so long. I’m tired.”

Alex startles again, everything this man says off-balancing him. “Who are?”

The man leans in conspiratorially, “The government.”

He blinks at him, “Why?”

The man shrugs and gestures vaguely, “Oh, you know.”

But Alex doesn’t know. Trying to regain some balance, he asks, “What’s your name?”

The man chuckles, mirth in his eyes, “You know my name.” Alex shakes his head vigorously in denial and the man’s eyes soften and he takes pity on him. “My name is Michael, Alex.”

“How do you know my name?” he demands.

“Oh, Alex.” Michael smiles, eyes looking mischievous. “I’ve known your name my whole life, all two hundred years.”

Michael was clearly a nutcase, something was absolutely wrong with him. But still, Alex observes lightly, “You look good for a two-hundred-year-old.”

Michael tips his head back and laughs, “You don’t,” he responds nodding toward Alex’s missing leg. Alex stares at him, shocked. Michael continues, unaffected, “So what do you think I should do about them hunting me?”

Alex cocks his head, considering. “I think,” he begins, “You should stop running.”

Michae’s eyes widen, then a look of concentration sets upon his face. Alex feels something gently press against his mind then quickly disappear, but it feels so achingly familiar. “You really are you,” Michael says, awed.

They’re leaning close into each other and the moment is interrupted when Kyle walks into the room. “Hey Alex, how are you -- Oh,” he stops short when he sees the way they’re sitting and Alex jerks away from Michael. Kyle looks at Michael, then narrows his eyes when he realizes he doesn’t have a visitor’s bracelet on.

Michael hastily gets up from the chair, shoots a glare at Kyle, then tells Alex, “Keep it secret,” and is pushing something into Alex’s hands then hurriedly flees the room. Alex’s fingers wrap around the item, tucking it at his side, then looks at Kyle, daring him to say something. Kyle merely shakes his head and gets on with his checkup.

Before Kyle leaves, Alex requests that Michael be added to his visitor’s list. Kyle looks at Alex pityingly but agrees to do so. When he’s left alone, Alex unwraps his fingers from the gift Michael left him, a simple ring with a stone that shimmers. It felt like a long lost treasure, finally returning home to Alex.

That night, Alex dreams of unruly curls and strong arms keeping him safe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spent my weekend writing this instead of working on grad school apps because I'm a Responsible Adult™

Growing up, Alex was a voracious reader. After his mother left, it was safer to hole up in his room with a book after he’d spent the whole day at the library. He loved picking up a new book and learning the secrets it contained. He read fiction, non-fiction, and everything in between. His love for learning didn’t translate into good grades, though. He was often distracted by the things his teachers mentioned in passing instead of focusing on the main points. If in science class, his teacher mentioned Sir Isaac Newton’s three laws of physics, he’d skip class the rest of the week, disappearing in the library, and reading all about Newton’s life. Then when the test rolled around, he knew about Newton’s origins but nothing about what the Laws were and how to apply them.

Alex was particularly drawn to books about the stars, space travel, and anything to do with science fiction. Sometimes, it felt like learning about the universe was the only thing that made sense to him. It brought him comfort and made him feel safe in ways he could never quite understand or explain. But when he was immersed in the stars, his heart would ache, as though he were missing a vital part of himself.

When graduation rolled around, Alex passed by the skin of his teeth. With less-than-stellar grades and a head full of disjointed information, there didn’t seem to be a lot of options for him aside from joining the military. At least, that’s what he told himself to hide from the truth that his father would have beaten him to death if he hadn’t.

The military had been...fine. Alex could detach from his emotions and just follow the orders his commanding officers gave him. He had spent many years alone and not able to make connections with his comrades, but his last posting had brought him Samara, Adam, and Matthew and they got along like they’d known each other for a lifetime. Still, the years passed slowly, and each one chipped away more and more of himself. The accident had taken away the good things that the military had brought him, the camaraderie, and they had literally sawed his leg off. Now he laid in a nondescript hospital bed, not knowing who he was anymore. He tries to run away from that truth by keeping the stream of morphine pumping into his body through the call button.

He returns to what he does know about himself, which is a love for learning. He devours every book in Kyle’s library in the hospital, then listlessly stares out the window when he’s done. Without a book in his hands, his thoughts are vicious and attack him relentlessly. He starts slipping toward thoughts of dying again, imagining creative and relatively painless ways to get the job done. Kyle worries over him, trying to get Alex to engage by talking about the books, but Alex just looks at Kyle without seeing him, listens without hearing him.

When Alex does finally surface to talk to Kyle, it’s to complain about the pain in his legs and begs him for more morphine. Kyle tells him that he doesn’t want to give too much to Alex because a little pain now is better than going through life as an addict. Alex moans and groans about the pain that Kyle capitulates and ups his dosage by a fraction.

Kyle tells him he’s going to ask Dr. Evans to stop by, but it barely registers so he is taken by complete surprise when he hears heels clacking in the hallway and a tall, _ beautiful _woman appears in his doorway. A sharp pain of jealousy shoots through Alex, this woman is gorgeous with her sleek blonde hair tied up in a tight ponytail, black pantsuit, and white blazer. “Hello, Alex. My name is Isobel.” Fuck, even her voice is melodious and all Alex wants to do is pull the covers over his face.

Instead, he turns his face, only showing his right side to her watchful gaze. “Hello,” he mutters.

She smiles bright and takes the seat next to him. “I understand you’ve been having some dark thoughts. I wonder if you would be willing to talk about them with me.”

Alex shakes his head in response and she laughs lightly. “I understand. I’m not here to ‘get inside your head’,” and she actually raises her hands to air quote the words which is so dorky it makes Alex feel a little better. “For now, I would like to help you come up with some coping methods to help combat those thoughts.” At Alex’s cautious nod, she continues, “Close your eyes and think about somewhere you want to be. It can be a memory or somewhere in the world you’ve always wanted to visit. Anywhere that makes you happy.”

He closes his eyes and tries to follow her directions but comes up with a blank. Somewhere that made him happy? Did such a place even exist? His mind provides him with a false memory, something truly spectacular. He’s standing in a small, somewhat decrepit home gazing out a window watching the red sea rush back and forth from the shores, three moons glittering in the sky, and strong arms encircling his hips, a warm head resting on his shoulder, whispering sweet words into his ear.

* * *

Alex hasn’t had the courage to pull back the sheet covering his leg and confront what he’s lost. Every time Kyle comes in to check on it, he resolutely turns away and looks at the white wall until Kyle is done with his examination. He feels the phantom pains, like a thousand needles pressing on a limb that no longer exists shooting up to what remained of the disfigurement he was now cursed with. He was grateful for the morphine because it allowed him to pretend a little longer that nothing was wrong and he could ignore the pain in a haze of the sweet nectar.

He rubs the ring Michael had left behind mindlessly. Were it not for the ring, Alex might have convinced himself that the strange encounter had been imagined. But it also saddens him because Michael hasn’t returned. It felt ridiculous to miss this stranger, but it also felt like he’d missed him his entire life, and wasn’t that even more pitiful?

* * *

Michael does turn back up in the hospital room, three days later and ten days since his first appearance. He’s dressed like a bona fide cowboy and Alex’s heart leaps at the sight. “I like your hat.” Alex says in greeting, “Where have you been?”

“I was busy,” Michael responds, pulling the visitor’s chair closer to Alex’s bed and settling into it, “And the hat was a gift.” He pulls off said hat and places it on the small table beside Alex’s bed.

“Doing what? From who?”

“From Max. I had a deadline.”

“What kind of deadline? Who’s Max?”

“Max is my editor. I was submitting a paper on astrophysics.”

“Astrophysics?” Alex blurts out in surprise, “You?”

Michael merely laughs good-naturally. “Don’t act so shocked. I got interested in it after listening to you talk about the stars.”

Alex bites his cheek to prevent himself from ridiculing and arguing with Michael. He searches around the room to talk about something else then he zeroes in on Michael’s left hand. How did he not notice it before? It’s mangled but the damage looks old. “What happened to your hand?”

Michael pulls it up and flexes the digits. “I’ll tell you, but it’s part of our story and I don’t want to spoil anything.”

“Our story?”

“Mm, since you don’t remember, I’ll have to tell it for you. But all in due time, darlin’.” Alex’s heart skips a beat at the term, so familiar yet so foreign. Michael clears his throat. “I was wondering if you’d let me look,” he gestures at Alex’s leg.

Alex feels the familiar pinpricks of panic, he wants to defensively wrap the sheet around his leg. But when he looks up, he sees Michael patiently watching Alex, and he knows that if he were to refuse Michael would accept it, without any argument. He glances again at Michael’s hand then nods his assent.

Michael carefully pulls the sheet away and his hands hover over the bandages but then he slowly, gently peels the bandages away revealing the stump for the first time to both Alex and Michael. Alex swallows thickly as Michael moves to touch the stump, stopping short as though realizing he might not have permission to do so. He looks up into Alex’s eyes who clears his throat then nods, not trusting his voice.

He reaches down and reverently runs his hands over the angry red skin, making a mournful noise as he does so. Tears well up into Alex’s eyes as he watches the movements. Then Michael leans down and presses a soft kiss on the stump and begins rewrapping the bandages without looking at Alex. He picks up his hat and places it back on his head, gives Alex a watery smile then leaves without another word.

The tears finally fall from Alex’s eyes as he watches him go and reaches over to the call button for more morphine.

* * *

The only gift Alex received from his father was his short-temper. Anger bubbled out of him easily and often scared those around him. But it scared him most of all because he felt himself becoming more and more like his father. He directed a lot of his anger at himself, resulting in self-harm, so at least he wasn’t taking it out on others as his father would.

After Michael leaves and the morphine haze wears off, Alex thrashes in his bed. He’s full of rage, at the world, at his stupid fucking leg, at the fact he’s been stuck in this goddamned bed for weeks, at Michael, but most of all at himself. For being weak and stupid, if he’d been stronger, smarter, maybe he could have avoided the bomb, saved his unit’s lives, not be stuck in the hospital. He wouldn’t have met Michael who brought up complicated and new feelings in him, upending his comfortable, predictable, _ boring _ life.

He’s flailing wildly in the bed, the machines beeping frantically, and Kyle rushes in with Isobel close behind. “Hey, hey,” Kyle says as he cradles Alex’s head. “Everything is okay, you’re here, nothing is coming for you.”

Alex gasps and takes in slow gulps of air. He finally feels his heart slow down and he can focus on Kyle’s worried face.

“Hey, welcome back,” Kyle smiles and releases his hold on Alex. “What happened?”

“I just…” Alex drifts off then looks at his leg meaningfully and meets Kyle’s eye and he gets it.

“I know it must be shocking to come to terms with this kind of injury, but you’re so strong for dealing with it. You’re brave, Alex.” Kyle assures.

Alex shakes his head tears well up in his eyes and suddenly Isobel is handing him a tissue with a small smile on her face. They sit by his side as he calms down and quietly talk to him about mindless things and he’s so grateful for these two even if they're only here because they’re being paid to.

After Alex has completely calmed down, Kyle explains he and Isobel have been talking about the best treatment plan for him. It’s been three weeks since he woke from the coma and his wounds are healing on track. He will be ready to start getting fitted for the prosthetic soon and then moved on to physical therapy.

Isobel takes over, telling him his physical treatment is progressing well, but they’re concerned about his mental treatment. They want to help him heal the wounds in his mind and they think taking this time between the wound healing and getting the prosthetic would be the best time. 

They both look at him so earnestly, he smiles nervously and agrees, and they both look so relieved and happy for him.

* * *

When Michael shows up again, he has a cautious smile on his face. “I’m sorry for leaving in such a hurry last time.” He says as he sits next to Alex. “It hurts me to see you have to suffer through so much pain, twice.”

“Once,” Alex corrects lightly.

Michael smiles and his face is less shuttered. “I ran into Dr. Valenti and he updated me on your treatment plan. I think it’s great. I’ll be here at your side the entire time,” Michael promises and it fills Alex with warmth. 

They settle into a calm conversation, talking about Michael’s work and what Alex’s experience was like in the military. It’s the most they’ve actually talked about themselves, but it feels so easy to talk about some things he’s never shared with anyone with Michael. He’s fascinated by him and just sitting together like this brings him peace he hasn’t felt in some time.

An amiable silence falls over them and Michael breaks it by saying, “I think you’re ready for a story.”

“What about?”

“About me, and the first time I met you.”

* * *

I was born into a prestigious family on Antar but had a very distant relationship with my parents. I was their only child and they had very high expectations of me. They filled all my hours with classes and schoolwork. There wasn’t much laughter in my childhood, just learning and duty. As a noble family, my parents expected I’d join the science research consortium in the capital where we lived and marry a woman from another prestigious family. And for the most part, my life was on track for that.

I began an apprenticeship with a well-respected Antarian scientist. He was incredibly intelligent, combining mechanical science with medical advancement. For the first few years of my apprenticeship, I was delegated to reading all the books he possessed on each subject. It was some of my fondest memories, learning about things I had a genuine interest in.

There was a lot of political turmoil on Antar at that time. We had a host of different alien populations on the planet that didn’t have the same rights as Antarians. They mostly kept to themselves, but some were violent and ravaged the smaller towns. The human band of mercenaries were the most ruthless, the most disliked population of aliens. They were known for their cruelty and heartlessness, but they never came to the capital so they were mostly left alone.

I was in the library one day when one of the servants came to fine me, breathless, explaining my master had summoned me. When I entered the lab, it was the first time I ever saw you. You were unconscious, your leg was twisted in an unnatural way, and it was red from all the blood you’d lost. I was struck by your beauty even then that I didn’t immediately notice my master and your companion. My master stepped forward first and, rather redundantly, explained you’d been in a terrible accident and your companion, Jay, had brought you were.

Jay stepped forward and stared at the ground as he explained the two of you were human mercenaries that had been ambushed by an Antarian force. Jay squared his shoulders and looked me in the eye and said he would not apologize for the choices the two of you were forced to make as humans on a hostile planet, but you were a good man and you deserved to die in safety, not alone in an anonymous field. My master spoke again to say that while you were a human, perhaps there was something we could do. I knew then that he was just saying that to appease Jay. It didn’t look like there was much to be done to help you.

My master explained to Jay that I was well-versed in all the sciences of mechanics and medicine and was confident we could find something to help. Jay was pleased by the answer and nodded his thanks and left you to us, he’d only been granted temporary leave to bring you to us, and he left without a backward glance at you.

My master instructed me to stay by your side, he was sure you’d die in the night and didn’t want your final moments to be alone. And I did. I wiped your leg clean from the blood and tried to set it right but your cries of anguish stopped me. I spent the night thinking of how we could save you and I finally settled on sawing the leg off then cauterizing the wound. I won’t describe the process, you’ve lived it twice and don't need to be reminded.

My master was shocked at what I’d done when he came down the next morning, but when I explained this would give us a good opportunity to work on a replacement limb, he was pleased. He set about working while I remained at your side, changing your bandages, feeding you soup, and putting wet cloths on your forehead to fight the fever. 

After a week had passed, your fever broke and a few days later you awoke. Your eyes were bleary and confused but they softened when you saw me, as though you knew I’d been the one keeping you company. You gave me a small smile before drifting off to sleep and my heart felt full for the first time in my life.

* * *

Michael leans back in his seat after he finishes the first part of his story and waits for Alex’s response. “You’re very creative, that’s a good story.”

Michael huffs out a laugh, “I have no talent for making up stories. I’m just good at recounting the past,” he smiles crookedly, love shining through his eyes. “We had a whole lifetime together, it’s a story that I repeated to myself throughout the years without you.”

“It’s just a story,” Alex mutters softly.

“Not just a story. _ Our _story.” Michael corrects gently, smile still on his face. “You don’t remember, so I’ll remind you.”

Alex nervously returns the smile, but his heart aches for something that never was. And how pathetic was he that he’s desperately clinging to a love story that wasn’t his because he wanted to believe in some other life he was as love as Michael claimed. To chase away such miserable thoughts, he reaches for the call button for another hit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long it took to get this next chapter out, I tried to make it longer to apologize. I'd say the next chapter will be out sooner, but I don't want to lie to you guys lol thanks for reading and sticking around!

Michael comes to visit nearly every day. Alex has sessions with Isobel early in the morning and then is left alone for the rest of the day, which is when Michael comes by and sits with him for the afternoon well into the evening. They talk about the projects that Michael works on and the papers he’s published. Alex is able to keep up well enough, but his interest in the universe had always been theoretical while Michael focuses on the application of astrophysics. 

When they’re not talking about that, Michael asks about Alex’s time in the Air Force, the things he saw while he was in the Middle East. Michael shares that he spent some time living in Cairo and traveled the Middle East extensively so it makes him sad when he thinks about how war-torn the area has become. When Alex questions when that was, Michael becomes coy and doesn’t give direct answers.

They also talk about a host of other things: the haunting melodies of Marcello’s Oboe Concerto in D Minor, Canadian vs. Russian moralistic literature, the history of telescopes, who you might meet in each circle of Dante’s hell, how the Aztecs settled in Mexico City after finding a serpent fighting an eagle, myths and legends of various Native tribes. Alex’s years at the library served him well to keep up with a supposed two-hundred-year-old.

Visiting hours had ended hours ago, but the nurses knew by now not to try to force Michael to leave. Michael stretches in his seat and looks out the window past Alex’s bed. “I hate leaving you, and I wish I could always be at your bedside,” he admits out of nowhere, voice tinged with distress.

Alex startles at the abrupt admission and Michael watches earnestly, waiting for his response, but Alex has none to give so he simply nods. He can tell Michael has a secret he wants to share with him but must know it’s a secret most people might not understand and could sound absurd when spoken aloud.

Michael takes a deep breath, “You remember that when I found you, you told me to stop running from them hunting me?” At Alex’s cautious nod, he continues, “Part of blending, so they don’t realize that I’m not from Earth, and staying hidden from the government, is working on these projects. They’re based in the science of Earth. You see, when I first started working on these projects, I did it to calm my mind, bide the time until I found you again, but I was sloppy and some of the things I wrote were from the science from Antar and it alerted them that something might not be right. So I’ve thrown myself into the work to try to prove that I am from here. When I work, I feel like I’m possessed and have to work in a frenzy to get the experiment complete as soon as possible. It’s impossible to ignore the orders, so you have to understand that when I leave and I’m not here, I have no choice.”

Michael sits in his chair anxiously waiting for Alex to respond, but how could he respond to such an odd declaration? But Alex knows Michael is trusting Alex with this information, so even though he doesn’t quite understand, he nods yet again. “It keeps you safe, so you can spend the rest of your time here.”

Michael deflates happily, “Yes. Yes. You understand.” Alex smiles and Michael returns it. He leans over to Alex and pushes his fringe away. “You still have the scar,” he observes in shocked awe, staring at the scar on Alex’s forehead that he’d seemingly been born with.

He squirms under Michael’s intense gaze, “I’ve always had it.”

Michael huffs out a choked out laugh, “Yes, I know.”

“Another secret from our past?” Alex asks, slightly sarcastically, but Michael doesn’t notice.

“All in due time, darlin’,” Michael promises yet again.

* * *

Alex isn’t sure how much he believes the odd things Michael claims, but when he is present and not talking about an impossible past life, he’s charming and pleasant company. It might say a lot about his choices in company, but he genuinely enjoyed Michael’s visits, there was something comforting and familiar about the other man’s presence -- like a balm to a scorched land. And in the days that he disappears into his work, Alex misses him. As though he’s spent all this time searching for him and never wants to let him go now that he has him. 

In the interim of Michael’s visits, Alex asks Kyle if he can get him copies of Michael’s work. “Astrophysics?” Kyle asks dubiously, “I’ll see what I can do, but you should really be reading about amputees and how to adjust to that lifestyle.”

Alex has never done well reading up on the things he was expected to read, but he knows he won’t get Kyle’s cooperation without a compromise. “Fine. How about for every astrophysics paper you bring, I read one of your books?”

Kyle lights up, “Okay, but you read one of mine first.” Alex agrees reluctantly and Kyle happily gives him one in the pile that has been sitting untouched next to Alex’s bed.

In Michael’s absence, Alex fills his afternoons now by reading the books that Kyle recommends and the papers he brings to hold up his side of the bargain. Reading Michael’s work makes him feel closer to him, the words and the things he describes slot into place easily in his mind and it feels like the words are from a half-remembered dream. 

He has sessions with Isobel every day. They haven’t gotten into anything deep yet, she’s asked him to tell her about his life in the service and once those stories have dried up, she moves on to his childhood. She asks him to try to pinpoint traumatic experiences in his life so they can work out his core beliefs about himself that they will eventually work on adjusting. She listens sympathetically as he tries to find the words to talk about his father and dutifully hands him tissues when he breaks down talking about the abuse, how his father became especially vicious when he realized Alex was gay.

Isobel is a soothing presence. Alex never thought he’d ever end up in therapy, the thought had always frightened him, as though they would tell him he was crazy and lock him up forever. But she is kind and never makes him feel like his feelings are invalid. They have a good rapport and he doesn’t dread her visits.

With Michael’s absence, he doesn’t get any visitors. He’s not surprised none of his brothers try to reach out, they’d all faded out of contact with each other, each preferring to leave the reminder of their shitty childhoods behind. He lost the only friends he’d made in the Air Force so he was, for all intents and purposes, alone in the world. Perhaps that’s why he clung so desperately to Michael.

Therefore, when one of the nurses drops off a postcard for him out of the blue, he’s genuinely surprised. The front is decorated with New Mexican motifs and Alex’s heart drops, realizing who the sender is. He flips it over and reads the rambling words:

_ Roadrunner - _

_ I heard the terrible news. My heart aches at the thought. You were always so quick and graceful on your feet, my little roadrunner. Your broken wing is the worst thing I can think of that could happen to you. You’ll never be so graceful again and it is the greatest tragedy. Roadrunner, how can you run anymore? How can you be my little roadrunner now? Your broken wing breaks me. I hope I never have to see it, so you can always remain my little roadrunner. _

It’s unsigned, but Alex would know that spikey, dreamy script anywhere. It adorned the thoughtless cards sent throughout his childhood for birthdays and Christmases. It was the hand that had written so many years ago that staying with a roadrunner wasn’t worth the miserable life she’d led.

Alex’s mother was a fuzzy memory. He remembers her sad eyes, always glassy with unshed tears, but her sweet words and gentling kisses. He remembers her whispering in his ear that he was her little roadrunner as she rocked him to sleep. He still has the dreamcatcher she’d made for him, with actual roadrunner feathers.

He remembers her drooped over the counter, half-finished wine glass limply held in her hand. He remembers her slurred speech and far away look as she stumbled about the halls of the Manes house. He still has the scar on his arm from when she’d had too much to drink before picking him up from school and crashed into the guardrail on their way home.

But most of all, Alex remembers her leaving. His father had passed out on his recliner, drunk after an argument with his mother. They’d had such a volatile relationship, perhaps their love for alcohol being the thing that had brought them together. They used to scream themselves hoarse at each other, each clutching a poison of their choosing (usually a beer can for his father and a wine glass for his mother). Then they’d be wrapped up in each other, embracing and apologizing (_Please don’t leave me. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry_). Alex used to pull the covers over his head when he’d hear them screaming, thinking if this was love then he never wanted it.

She had calmly packed her things the day she left, took two unopened bottles of wine and tucked them into her bag. She set it down at the front door, then had placed kisses on the foreheads of each of her boys, his father included, and said goodbye. She picked up the bag and walked out the front door without a backward glance. Alex had run after her, sobbing for her to take him with her, but she never slowed her pace to the car.

Her pulling out of the driveway with a stoic expression was the last time he ever saw her. He was eight.

Alex would sit on the couch by the front door and look out the window, waiting for her to return. His brothers would mock him relentlessly for it, telling him to stop being a baby, to grow up and realize she didn’t love him and was never coming back for him. Alex kept his vigil up for a month until the dreamcatcher and note confirming she was gone for good arrived. Alex had hung the dreamcatcher by his window and cried himself to sleep that night. Jesse had been generous and didn’t lay a hand on Alex the day he lost his innocence, but he almost wished he had. Physical pain was familiar, the crushing pain in his heart was new and unfamiliar (though it would become a constant as the years passed).

Alex hasn’t cried about his situation since he was admitted into the hospital (tears from recounting his childhood notwithstanding) so it seemed fitting that his mother would be the one to reduce him to tears even in her absence. There is something about her that never fails to make him feel like a helpless child again. He leans heavily on the call button and begs Kyle, with tears in his eyes, for an early dose of morphine. Kyle shakes his head and asks him if he wants him to call Isobel but Alex just cries harder and brandishes the note he’d received.

Kyle sighs heavily and relents by administering a small dose of the drug, but it’s just enough for Alex to succumb to a fitful sleep.

When he wakes, Isobel is at his side reading a book. He shifts uneasily in his bed and the movement alerts her to him being awake. She looks up and smiles warmly, “Hey there sleepyhead. How are you feeling?” Alex shrugs and picks at the loose threads of the hospital sheets. “Kyle said you received a letter that upset you, but you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Didn’t. Don’t.” Alex responds curtly without looking up at her.

“Alex…” Isobel begins, but he quickly interrupts her. 

“I’ll talk about whatever you want from my piece of shit father to my time in the military, but I won’t talk about her.”

“Her?” Isobel questions, then cautiously continues, “You mean your mother?”

Alex feels his face shutter and pulls the sheet tight against his chest as if it could protect him from her words.

Her face softens, “Okay. For now, we won’t.”

He smiles tentatively at her in thanks and she returns it. She switches gears by talking about survivor’s guilt and how she wants to address that during this session. “We’ve been working on identifying core beliefs that you hold, and a lot of them point to the fact that you think you’re worthless or unlovable. I want to explore that with how you feel about surviving the accident your unit was in.” Instead of diving right into, though, she asks him about Samara, Mathew, and Adam and some of the fog surrounding their memories lift. He’s spent his time since waking from his coma lamenting their loss but being able to talk about the good times with them settles his mind. Isobel smiles and laughs when he recounts some of their times out in the desert together.

“Do you think they’d want you to die for them?” Isobel asks when he finishes talking about how they were his family. He stares at her, shocked by her blunt question. “Or do you think they’d be angry with you for living when they had better lives?”

Alex gasps and looks away, blinking back tears. “Alex?” Isobel prompts gently.

He shakes his head vigorously, “They were too kind to me. They always hated when I talked about how I didn’t have anything worth living for.”

“Why do you think they’d get angry?” Alex shrugs noncommittally. “Do you think it’s because they didn’t agree? That maybe it hurt them to hear you talk like that?”

“It doesn’t matter now, does it? They’re gone and I still don’t have anything living for,” Alex mumbles, his gaze back on the fraying sheet.

“That’s the survivor’s guilt talking. You have people here who care about you and want you to get better.” Isobel contradicts smoothly.

Alex feels the familiar pinpricks of anger start up. “What, you mean you, Kyle, the nurses?” he scoffs, “You don’t care about me, or whether I will get better. Either way, you’ll get your paychecks and you get to go home while I lay here crippled, _ useless_, with no future.”

Isobel puts her clipboard aside, sensing Alex is looking for a fight. “You’re scared and that’s understandable. But we do care, Alex, and we want you to be able to walk out of here healed, both mentally and physically.”

She must not have realized what she said but it gives Alex the perfect opportunity to angrily rip the sheet away and gesture violently at his leg. “I’m never going to walk out of here. And we can sit around and talk about my shitty life but that’s never going to change.”

Isobel is silent for a moment. “You’re right, it won’t change. But we can change your way of thinking so you have the tools to lead a fulfilling life. I know it’s difficult for you to accept that we care about you and want the best for you, but we do. Tragedy might have brought you to us, but everything will be okay. It just takes time.”

Alex deflates, the fight blowing out of him when he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You’re used to people leaving you so you think that if you push them away first it will hurt less. But we’re not going anywhere, even without a paycheck. In fact, I like you enough that if I heard someone bad-mouthing you, it would piss me off.”

Alex chokes out a laugh, “I like you, too.”

Isobel smiles brightly, “Well of course you do. What’s not to like?”

He laughs again, a little less watery, envious of her confidence. “Thank you.”

She reaches out and squeezes his shoulder, “I promise we’re going to get through this. You can’t get rid of us that easily.”

Alex relaxes and nods. The quiet moment is interrupted when Michael walks in. Isobel removes her hand, Alex brightens immediately, and Michael freezes in his tracks.

“Michael,” Isobel greets and it surprises Alex, he didn’t know they knew each other. “It’s good to see you again. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” he replies tersely and pulls off his hat, nervously fingering the brim.

“I didn't know you were acquainted with Alex,” she continues, either oblivious to his discomfort or ignoring it to try to put him at ease. “You have great timing though, we’d just finished up our session.”

Michael continues to avoid her eyes while Alex looks on in fascination. Isobel must realize her attempts at conversation are falling flat so she returns her attention to Alex. “You did good work today. We’ll continue tomorrow, okay?”

He nods and she politely says goodbye to both men before departing. Michael lets out a breath of relief when she leaves and eagerly takes her place at the chair next to Alex. “Hey, stranger. How are you doing?” he asks, eyes soft.

“What was that all about?” Alex asks, nodding to the door Isobel had left through.

“Oh,” Michael says, looking down at his hands, almost as if embarrassed. “She’s treated me in the past.”

“What?”

“Max has forced me to come to the hospital when I work too hard, and she’s the one who has treated me before,” Michael admits gently.

_ You didn’t forget about Max, did you? _ A cruel voice asks in Alex’s mind. He shakes his head, “You don’t have to be embarrassed. Should I be embarrassed because I’m seeing her?”

“Of course not!” Michael protests.

“Well?” 

Michael shakes his head ruefully and they both let the subject drop. After some time passes, he looks back up at Alex. “Are you okay? You seemed down when I came in.”

Alex avoids Michael’s eye, not wanting to answer. “I received a letter that upset me,” he finally admits.

He looks at Alex curiously, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Mere hours ago, Alex would have vehemently denied it, but Michael is watching him with such an open expression, with no expectations, as though he will listen if Alex needs to get it off his chest, but won’t push if Alex isn’t ready. He sighs and pulls out the postcard he’d stuffed beneath his pillow and hands it to Michael. “From my mother,” Alex explains.

Michael takes it wordlessly and reads it. When he finishes it, he looks up at Alex with furrowed brows and hands it back to him. “My mother is not well,” Alex starts and it feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest, it’s the first time he’s breathed the words into existence. “She left us when I was young and sent notes like these throughout my childhood. Every time we received them, my father would beat us, like he was punishing us for their arrival. She stopped sending them when I turned eighteen and I was relieved.” Alex looks down at the postcard again, ”This is the first time I’ve heard from her in ten years.”

Michael makes a wounded noise and hesitantly pulls Alex into a hug, “It’s okay, Alex. You’re allowed to grieve her, your father isn’t here, you can let go.” They’re the right words and Alex crumbles into his embrace, crying over his mother for the second time in twenty-four hours. Michael rubs soothing circles into Alex’s back as he cries himself hoarse. When Alex’s sobs turn to hiccups then to even breathing again, Michael pulls away a bit, “Feel better?”

Alex merely shrugs, already missing Michael’s arms around him. They stay silent for long beats before Alex clears his throat. “Did I, uh, did I,” Alex clears his throat again, “Did I know her...before?”

Michael studies Alex’s face, then shakes his head minutely, eyes gentle. “She died giving birth to you.”

He looks away and huffs out a disappointed breath, “Of course.”

“Do you want to hear more about our story?” Michael asks hesitantly and Alex brightens and nods.

* * *

After you awoke that first time, you drifted in and out of consciousness for a few more days, but your fever never returned thankfully. I stayed at your side continuously to tend to your wounds and while you slept, I read to you from the vast collections of books in my master’s library.

You awoke again a week later, gasping for air and frantically reaching out to your leg. I was at your side immediately. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I soothed.

You looked at me with wide eyes, fear laced in them. “Where am I? What happened?”

I tried to explain to you what had happened, pulling my memory of Jay’s story and you seemed to calm down when I mentioned his name but still looked guarded. “Your comrade bought you here so we could try to heal you. I had to cut the damaged part of your leg off, it was too severe.”

You looked down at the leg in question and moaned sadly. You shook your head back and forth as if trying to shake yourself out of a bad dream. You finally opened your eyes again and looked at me, “Who are you?”

“I’m Michael. I’m an apprentice here. My master is constructing a new limb for you,” I explained, nervously. There was something unsettling about your piercing gaze.

“Michael,” you repeated, trying out the name, then nodded to yourself. “I am indebted to your kindness. I am Alex.

I smiled but the moment was interrupted when my master burst in. He was pleased to see you awake and lucid and asked you question after question about how you were feeling. When he was satisfied with your answers, he explained what he was working on and how long he anticipated it would take, but in the meantime, I would keep you company.

The days passed slowly after that. You still would sleep for most of the day, but when you were awake you were delightful company. You had a sardonic and self-deprecating sense of humor and you enjoyed having me read to you. My master left us alone for the most part, popping in to get measurements for your leg, and always giving me a knowing look when he left.

As the weeks passed, you grew strong and my master finally completed your new limb. We fastened it on your leg and waited with bated breath as you slowly got to your feet to test it out. It worked for the most part, but there was some pain so my master tinkered with it further until it fit perfectly. I helped you get to your feet and we’d take strolls around the lab and library together, growing closer. You sheepishly admitted that you’d never spent so much time with an Antarian before. I’m not sure why you thought I’d be surprised, humans and Antarians never did, but I smiled and asked how I measured against your expectations. You smiled back, something mischievous twinkling in your eyes, and said I’d do.

We spent our time sharing our pasts with each other. I was fascinated by your life as a mercenary, you’d been a skilled archer, but you almost sounded ashamed of it. I assured you I wouldn’t judge you and you opened up more after that about the places you’d traveled to in the troop, the things you saw, the battles you’d fought in. You told me how your father was the leader of your troop, how he was a hard and unforgiving man, how his philosophy was that once you were in the troop, you were in for life. You’d never had a choice in the matter and could never leave because he would have hunted you down and killed you. “But he must think I’m dead now,” you began, hope glimmering in your eyes, “so I guess I'm free.”

I think I fell in love with you then, during all our conversations you’d never looked so happy and free as you had then. I would have gladly traded all my years to keep that look on your face.

After several months had passed, I was summoned to my parents’ home. It was difficult to leave you, but my master assured me he’d take care of you in my absence. I was gone for a month, my parents filled my time with engagements at the palace and introduced me to every unwed peer woman. At the end of my stay, they informed me that they were entering into negotiations with a family to have me wed by the end of my apprenticeship.

I returned to my master’s home in a panic and when I entered the lab, my master nodded to where you laid, “This one has spent the month trying not to mention your name.” You shrunk in on yourself guiltily and I blurted out to you both that my parents were arranging my marriage.

You looked crushed at the news but immediately tried to school your features to a look of stoicism. My master smiled sympathetically and I cried, “What am I going to do?”

My master looked between us, the knowing look back on his face, and said in his sweet voice, “You’re going to leave the capital, of course. Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> The pacing will probably slow down for future chapters. 
> 
> Away we go!


End file.
